Sonic X Seinfeld
by InfoWarsOfficial
Summary: Sonic X Seinfeld is a romantic thriller crossover combining the universes of Larry David's "Seinfeld" and the various iterations of "Sonic the Hedgehog." For mature audiences only.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

"...And what's the deal, with all these dirty immigrants?" This slip of of the tongue was the last the audience could withstand. Every last one of them had all doubled over in a torrent of laughter, Jerry Seinfeld had done it once again. "I mean come on! They come into the greatest country on Earth, they rape our women, they steal our jobs. What's up with that?" The crowd was his captive, each one a victim of his hypnotic spell. Only black people were immune to his god-like hilarity. Nobody, not even George W. Bush, encapsulated the American spirit like he did.

But something was different this time. Seinfeld was a celebrity, a famous comedian, and a convicted criminal. Jerry was performing at a low-profile joint, real steezy place. He was not the famous Jerry Seinfeld of yesterday, but instead the boldly mustachioed, up-and-comer Jerry Senfield! That's right, Jerry and the gang escaped from Alcatraz. It was like in Shawshank but it was way cooler and also it actually happened. It was so cool the human brain couldn't even comprehend it, so don't even try to imagine it or you might die.

The fuzz was looking for them and their photos were everywhere, so they needed clever disguise. Jerry Seinfeld became Jerry Senfield, and began sporting uncouth facial hair that made him look like a discount Steve Harvey. Kramer became Krammer, you know, like the kind of person that shoves stuff places, or studies hard for a test the night before. He combed his hair. Elaine Benes became Elaine Benis. The others made fun of her because Benis sounded like penis, and it totally does, but she doesn't believe them. She wore reflective sunglasses and a black leather jacket. She also had a Hulk Hogan mustache and a 50 pound chain around her neck. George didn't disguise himself at all because he said that's what the cops would expect so if he didn't have a disguise it would be as if he had the most elaborate one of all.

The crew was waiting outside the club for Jerry's show to end. It was a brisk evening. George was taking swigs from a bottle of Listerine, and Kramer was smoking a cigarillo. Elaine gave George her inquisitive scowl and spoke. "Are you drinking mouthwash?!" She emphasized the word, 'mouthwash.' George was clearly caught off guard by the question. He gave a quick look in all directions, like one does on the train when a stranger speaks to them, and they're not sure if they're actually speaking to somebody else, but George looked a little quicker than that. "Yeah, so what?" He retorted. Kramer interjected, "Oh that's no mouthwash you two, it's an 'oral antiseptic'."

"You can't just drink mouthwash!" exclaimed Elaine, perhaps a little louder than she should've. Elaine was yet to learn her place in the world as a woman. "Oral antiseptic," repeated Kramer, puffing smoke. "What are you my mother?" said George in a tone that was almost suspicious of Elaine. George both resented and feared his mother, like any Jewish boy should. "It's got alcohol in it," he continued. Elaine made a face like she was going to say something, but didn't and then made a contemplative face, and then shrugged acceptingly. "You better be careful George." Said Kramer. "Breath as minty fresh as you're making yours can be dangerous!" He shouted, as a shook slightly and exhaled some smoke. "Yeah, yeah, whatever." Said George, dismissively.

A couple of brown people sitting in a car in the parking lot distance were partaking in a marijuana session. They weren't quite high, and the smoke wasn't quite strong enough to impede their vision in any meaningful way of things outside the car. As they sat, one of them focused in on the gang against the wall they were leaning. "Isn't that George Costanza?" asked the one in the passenger seat. The driver turned his head and squinted towards them. He paused, then spoke slowly, "Yeah. You know what? I think it is?" The passenger, the one in the seat next to the driver, asked, "Should we call the cops?"

George turned away from Elaine and walked in front of Kramer, towards the entrance to the club. "Where are you going?" Asked Elaine, nagging as usual. "To the restroom, this Listerine goes right through me." About two minutes passed, and then the pair left outside the club heard police sirens in the distance. "I wonder what that could be?" Inquired Kramer. "Probably a sale at the Krispy Kreme," cackled Elaine. She meant the donut chain, not the rapper. Her jokes were never that funny.

George meandered through a hallway towards the men's room. He heard hard laughter through the walls, and the jealousy he felt for Jerry caused his penis to shrivel slightly, like it would after exiting a swimming pool. The bathroom was large, all the urinals were in a row with no dividers, like at a baseball stadium, but more dark and lifeless because George was the only one inside. He made his way to the very end of line of urinals and took his stance.

Jerry had cracked his last joke of the evening, thanked the crowd for coming out, and made his exit. He made his way for the backdoor, the door George just entered, and where the rest of his friends were waiting for him. It was a calm and quiet walk, but as he opened the door, he was taken aback. A row of police cruisers had shot into the parking lot and stopped in a semi-circle surrounding the gang. They exited their vehicles, one after the other, and pulled their guns on Jerry, Kramer, and Elaine. "Put your hands where I can see them!" One of the officers barked. The gang complied.

Just as George had undone the zipper to his pants and whipped out his member, a figure burst through the door. George wanted to look but it would be weird in the position he was in, especially since he was the only other person in the room. The figure bypassed all the available pee stations and took his place on the one right next to George. Costanza caught a glimpse of his face out of the corner of his eye and turned immediately. "Oh my god!" Said George. "You're Bill Murray!" Just then, his pee started to flow like a waterfall of golden dew from the top of a forest canopy careening off a leaf to a lower level. "Always good to meet a fan." Bill Murray said affably. George couldn't believe it, he was taking a wee with the one and only Bill Murray! And he was affable, despite rumors George had heard that he was kind of a dick. "How did I even know it was him?" George thought. "I knew the instant I saw him." George was staring over at the now urinating Bill Murray, and then it struck him! He was wearing his Ghostbusters outfit!

Bill Murray looked over at George with a disinterested smile, and saw his starstruck grin and gleam of wonder in his eyes. He paused and thought, and then he spoke. "Are you George Costanza?" George's smile quickly turned to a frown and he realized that not only was he staring longingly at another man who was peeing with him simultaneously, but also his disguise idea was remarkably shitty. He looked away quickly and awkwardly, similarly to how he did with Elaine earlier. "No." He said. His voice cracked like a 13 year old. Just then something happened. The discharge of breath George managed with his response to Bill Murray assaulted Bill's nostrils, it was disgustingly minty fresh, and Bill Murray recoiled at the unwelcome shift in aroma. At the exact same time, George was struck with the uncontrollable twitch that you sometimes have when you're peeing in a sort of cold room. They involuntarily jerked toward each other, and their urine streams pulled behind. Bill Murray shouted, "Don't cross the streams! Nooooooo!"

There was a flash.


	2. Chapter 2

Meanwhile, on Mobius…

Sonic and Amy we're walking down a quiet, empty alleyway, like the kind you would find in the empty, economically crippled city of Detroit, Michigan, but better because on Mobius there's very little chance of encountering a pack of feral black people. Amy decided to break the silence. "Sonic… I… I need to tell you something." Sonic looked over coldly, and Amy continued. "I uh… I don't like Jazz." There wasn't even a millisecond of hesitation on Sonic's part, Amy was caught off guard by how quickly he responded. "What do you mean you don't like Jazz?" Amy paused awkwardly. "It just mean that uh, when I listen to it I uh, I don't really like it." Sonic was quick to respond again. "What do you fucking mean you don't like fucking Jazz?" Amy starting shaking in fear. "Whoa, calm down Sonic, you're scaring me." "I think I'm gonna puke all over my Jazz shoes," replied Sonic. "Jesus Christ, are you okay?" asked Amy. Sonic began taking off his shirt. "I'm sweating so much right now." He turned to Benito Mussolini, "You hear this Duce? She says she doesn't like Jazz." Mussolini replied, "Oh my god, I can't feel my legs."

Sonic used his Millennium Puzzle to become Chris Brown, and then he gave Amy five across the face. "You're a real dumb cunt Amy, you know that?" He said. Amy fell to the ground and began sobbing violently. Benito Mussolini nodded like Jack Nicholson with quiet approval from a distance. Everything was right in the universe.

Across town at the local mosque Knuckles and Tails were reading the Qur'an because they knew that being superheroes alone was not enough to face Allah (subhanahu wa ta'ala) in the afterlife. Tails went to the restroom.

As he began to let it rip into the urine coated trough, he was joined by Bill Murray the Hedgehog. Tails made no immediate note of it, as he didn't care much for Ghostbusters. Each let out the awkward sigh one does while urinating in a public bathroom. Moments later, Tails piss met with that of Bill Murray in the central drain, and the mixture began emitting a mystifying glow.

There was a flash.

Tails, Knuckles, Sonic, Amy, Bill Murray the Hedgehog, and Benito Mussolini found themselves standing next to Elaine and Kramer outside a comedy club, surrounded by police officers. Startled by the appearance of non-whites, the police officers opened fire. George and Bill Murray strolled out the back door just in time to witness Sonic shredding the police to bits with his light dash. "Hehe, stupid cops. Fuck the police am I right guys? Hehe, radical!" Sonic said. At that moment, Jerry Seinfeld rounded the corner, evidently done with his act, not expecting to see scores of dead police, and a group of mobians from another universe and also beloved Italian leader Benito Mussolini. Although surprised by the scene, Jerry was not disappointed. Everyone began to make each other's acquaintance. Except for Bill Murray the Hedgehog, he was shot through the heart, and everyone was too late. They gave love a bad name. He was dead. "Fuck that guy." Said Amy. Everyone nodded in agreement. They left his shambling corpse on the ground of the parking lot and left together.

"It looks like me and my friends have been transported onto your planet," said Tails. "This must be the work and will of Allah (subhanahu wa ta'ala)," intoned Knuckles. Kramer leaned over to George's ear and whispered, "I swear these Syrian refugees are always so strange." "Well it's a good thing you showed up when you did, you really saved us from the police there." Elaine said, thanking Sonic and the gang. "Heh, no problemo! We killed all the cops on Mobius a long time ago! That's why our world is one big paradise!" Elaine then made possibly the only intelligent statement she would ever make in her lifetime. "If there's one thing that's true no matter where you are in the universe, I guess it's that all cops are bastards." Everyone laughed.

"How did this happen?" Wondered Tails. Bill Murray began to speak. "It's quite simple really, this is what happens when you cross the streams. The disturbance creates a hole in the fabric of time and space, and the matrix immediately tries to rectify the anomaly in anyway it can. Somehow, it was resolved by splicing your guys' place in the Dasein with ours." "Wait a minute, what do you mean by cross the streams?" Questioned Tails. "Pee streams. Mine and George's here." "Oh that makes sense," said Tails, "I was transported here when my pee mixed with Bill Murray the Hedgehogs pee in a trough. The universe must have neutralized two disturbances at the same time by mixing them together, and that's how we all got here." "Makes sense to me," said Amy stupidly. Sonic was getting ready to feed her her just deserts again, but before he could Jerry just kicked her in the head. "Shut the fuck up, bitch." Amy began to cry again. Although she was right and it did make a lot of sense, she still had stupid girl brains and needed to learn to speak only when spoken to.

Just then, the gang heard evil laughter on the horizon, and Dr. Eggman came floating towards them in a ship that looked like the interior of a Mazda Miata genetically fused with a cheap Wal-Mart cereal bowl. "Aw gee-whiz, it's Egg-balls," said Sonic. It was a funny comment because testicles otherwise knowns as balls are vaguely egg-shaped, and when mixed with Eggman's name it sounds like an insult. Sonic was a very clever hedgehog. Everybody laughed, except for angry, who took offense. "You're lucky Sonic! If I didn't have to go to a bar-mitzvah right now you'd be in for a world of hurt!" Eggman left. Everybody already thought he was Jewish because of his big fat fucking Jew nose, but now it was confirmed. "He'll fit right in in New York City!" Exclaimed Jerry. Everyone laughed. It was funny because there are way too many Jews in New York City.

"If Eggman is here, that must mean more people we know must have made the leap from our realm! I wonder who else is here." Said Tails. "I hope you didn't bring any more Jews," said Kramer. "I wouldn't worry about that." Knuckles smiled, winked, and gave a thumbs up. "Our friend Il Duce here took care of most of them a while ago."

"You guys seem alright, why don't we all go back to my place to get to know each other a little better?" Suggested Jerry. "That sounds tubular, I'm down!" Replied Sonic. "Yeah! Sounds fun!" Said Tails. "By Allah (subhanahu wa ta'ala), I think it would be good to take some time and figure things out." Said Knuckles. Amy began to speak but Sonic interrupted, "Nobody fucking asked you Amy, you stupid whore!" Everyone laughed.

And with that, they all ventured off with hopes of cracking open a cold one with the boys in their hearts.


	3. Chapter 3

"Skeet skeet skeet skeet skeet" exclaimed Dale Earnhardt, Sr., the intimidator, as he shot a hefty load of semen off the Broadway Bridge. His adrenaline began to flow. He had just recently faked his death by making a rehearsed right turn in the middle of a counter-clockwise race around Daytona Speedway. But he was fed up with it all, he didn't want his demise to be just an illusion. He threw himself off the cold beams of the Broadway Bridge, towards the harsh water of the Harlem River below. Nothing mattered to him, Dale was thoroughly shaken by the realization of the godlessness of American Empire. In his heart, he still loved his son, his wife, his family, but as he raced toward the cold sludge, the arteries that part the soulless sprawl of former New Amsterdam, he carried with him only one thought; will he live to see his cursed seed fuse with the New York waters, or will he be the victor in his final race?

A train passed over the same bridge as Dale Earnhardt, Sr.'s body crossed the axis of the bridge surface. The moment at which he and the Seventh Avenue Line of the New York City Transit Authority were perpendicular, and Earnhardt's eventual corpse was within plain view of the tram's passengers was brief, but a watchful few bore witness nonetheless. Among the witnesses, a pair of FBI agents tasked with keeping track of Dale after his Daytona 500 theatrics. They listened for the damning crack as his body collided with the surface of the river below. They heard nothing, but acted on their assumptions anyway. One flipped open a phone, dialed a number, and placed it by his left ear. One ring passed, then two, then an answer. "We weren't in time to stop him," the agent said. The voice over the phone replied after a moment of silence. "Be sure you recover the body first, let's not make this more complicated than it has to be."

In the next car over, further from the front, Jerry and the gang were nestled, passing time on their way to Jerry's 81st street apartment in downtown Manhattan. "Something foul is in the air here," mumbled Benito Mussolini. He said it quietly, almost as if under his breath, but certainly everyone could hear him, though little attention was paid to the statement.

George was doing a crossword puzzle. "A variation of grape used to make dry wine. Six-letters. Anyone?" Kramer, in a single erratic movement, pulled the cigarillo from his mouth and rasped quickly as smoke shot into the space ahead of his mouth. "Raisin." George looked at Kramer as if he were insane. "What are you, insane?" His eyes were narrowed, as if he were suspicious of the tall man in front of him, his mouth slightly agape, as happens on occasion when one enters a state of deep focus or contemplation. Kramer was taken aback by the rebuke, but George was steadfast in his gaze. "A raisin isn't a grape." "What do you mean it's not a grape?" Replied Kramer, almost shouting. "It's not a grape," asserted George once more, "that's why it's called a raisin. If it were a grape it be called a grape, but it's called a raisin!" "Well it's a dried grape, George!" George stood up, beat red, breathing loudly, newspaper folded and clutched in his hand. "It's not a grape! If you asked somebody if they had any dried grapes, they'd think you were crazy! You'd be hauled off to the happy hotel, and they would never let you out! Your goose would be cooked! You'd never know the light of day again! Raisins aren't grapes! Raisins aren't grapes!" George was shouting at the top of his lungs; he could be heard from several cars down either direction. Kramer raised his voice as well, but wasn't quite as loud as George. "Well how do you make dry wine George? You gotta use dry grapes!" George was practically on the brink of having an aneurysm. He continued screaming, "Raisin isn't the answer! You can't make wine out of raisins!" This sort of meltdown was tragically common among small-penised men such as George Costanza. Amy chimed in. "You can make wine out of raisins." "Yeah!" Agreed Elaine. Sonic's blood rose to a simmer, he repeated to himself in his head, "shut the fuck up Amy, shut the fuck up Amy," but he wasn't going to hit her here, not where everyone can see. "Shut up!" howled George. "It's not raisins! Give me a different answer!"

The others wanted to continue the conversation, but decided to drop it to avert the puerile anti-intellectualist attitudes radiated by George and his micropenis. The more intelligent people in the group - Tails, Knuckles, Sonic, Benito Mussolini, Bill Murray, and perhaps Jerry - knew the true answer. It was 'Merlot'. But for their various reasons, they didn't provide George the assistance he begged for. Sonic and Bill Murray were both too above it all, wondering when this snooze cruise of a train ride would end. To them, providing an answer wasn't worth the effort. Jerry and Il Duce were both distant to the conversation as well, though because their focus was momentarily far away from their Earthly positions at that moment. Tails and Knuckles refrained out of religious principle. They were engaged in prayer, and felt no obligation to correct the will of Allah (subhanahu wa ta'ala) to leave an unbeliever in the blind, dark void of ignorance. If George were a more virtuous man, maybe he could compose himself in such a way that demanded the respect of men of the holy book, maybe then he would be given the answers he was looking for by those who are wiser than he, by the will of Allah (subhanahu wa ta'ala).

In the meantime, their train reached a stop at 79th street, only a few blocks from their destination, and the gang exited, though without Bill Murray. As they traveled among the tall skyscrapers of Manhattan, through the crowded streets and sidewalks, the mobians among them gained few odd looks. One might expect hedgehogs, echidnas, and foxes such as these to be an oddity in this metropolis, but America's eastern seaboard is crawling with freaks of all shapes and sizes, and the greater rabble were numb to odd figures. As they walked, the mobians started to feel a friction in the air. "You know Jerry," started Kramer, feeling eyes on the back of his neck, "I think these animals have a thing for me." He laughed and elbowed Jerry. "I have the Kavorka you know, the l-" "yeah yeah," interrupted Jerry. "The lure of the animal," he said almost mockingly.

They arrived at Jerry's apartment. "Make yourselves at home," said Jerry. "You know I never properly thanked you for saving us from the cops back there. If it weren't for you, I could be getting railed in the ass by a Gumby impersonator right now." "Hey, no problem dude!" Sonic gave a thumbs up. "Always a pleasure to shred some police officers!" Just then Jerry's phone rang; he answered. A series of unassuming, standard phone call-manner retorts followed. The standard potpourri of 'uh-huhs' 'yeahs' and an occasional 'really?' Jerry delivered a "sorry to hear that, thanks for letting me know," and said his goodbyes. He turned to Kramer, George, and Elaine and spoke. "Our friend Landon committed suicide!" The gang was shocked; George and Elaine exclaimed simultaneously. "What?" "Yeah," followed George, "jumped off the Broadway Bridge earlier today." "That's crazy," replied Elaine. "They said the funeral is tomorrow." "That soon?" Asked George, "strange." "We should all go together to pay our respects to the departed," said Knuckles, prompting Kramer and Amy to nod in agreement. "If you all insist." said Jerry.

The gang settled into the apartment. They managed to tune a radio to _The Alex Jones Show_ and got comfortable.


	4. Chapter 4

Kramer was just wakin' up in the mornin' gotta thank God. He didn't know but today seemed kinda odd; no barking from the dogs, no smog, and he opened up a brand-new Keurig machine, one of over a thousand he had recently ordered, and tossed it out the window. "I won't let Hannity be silenced," he muttered to himself, as he began the awkward, morningwood-laiden stroll to the bathroom. Not too long afterward, Elaine burst into the apartment. "Jerry! Jerry! You won't believe what just happened to me!" Jerry, upset by being waken up by a screaming whore, quickly pulled a pillow over his mouth and screamed "bitch" into it, before rolling out of bed and going to greet Elaine. "Jerry! I was just walking back from my morning coffee when some _maniac_ almost hit me with a Keurig machine he threw out the window." "Well," started Jerry, "I'm glad there are people out there who aren't willing to let Hannity be silenced." Elaine flashed Jerry that stupid fucking look from the TV show where she does like a half-shrug and squints her eyes with her mouth open. Everybody was awake, and nobody cared about her boring story.

Sonic burst into the room carrying one of those containers that health-product powders are always stored in. "Hey Jerry," he snickered, "What's this stuff, dude?" Before Jerry could respond, Kramer appeared from the bathroom, dripping wet from a shower. "Why, that's Brain Force!" "Brain Force?" replied Sonic, "Yeah, Brain Force PLUS," Kramer grabbed the container, held it up by his head, and looked toward a hypothetical camera. "Flip the switch and supercharge your state of mind with the all new Brain Force PLUS: 20% more capsules and a critically enhanced formula featuring a brand new ingredient and increased potency – all for the same low price." Sonic and his friends all stared in amazement and said, "wow." "Tell us more!" pleaded Knuckles.

Kramer chuckled, and raised an eyebrow, "well…" he looked back at the hypothetical camera. "Top scientists and researches agree: we are being hit by toxic weapons in the food and water supply that are making us fat, sick, and stupid. It's time to fight back with Brain Force PLUS from InfoWars and InfoWars Life, the next generation of advanced neural activation and nootropics. This all new enhanced formulation not only contains 20% more capsules per bottle, but has been enhanced for maximum potency and even contains a brand new ingredient called Black Pepper Fruit Extract for an added kick. Alex Jones has himself stated, 'Brain Force has been an absolute favorite among thousands of listeners, with hundreds of 5-star reviews coming in from certified third party review sites. Now, with Brain Force PLUS, we have gone the extra level. This is what I take before a hard-hitting show. I absolutely love it, and the crew does too. This stuff is over the top powerful.' Now if that's not enough to convince you, let me tell you about some of the ingredients. Bacopa Herb Extract, which is traditionally used as an important neurological tonic and cognitive enhancer in Ayruvedic medicine. Alpha-GPC is a natural compound found in the brain that delivers choline, a water-soluble essential nutrient, across the brain barrier. It's got Yerba Mate Leaf Powder, containing natural amounts of caffeine, yerba mate is also loaded with polyphenols like quercetin, as well as potassium, magnesium, and manganese. L-Theanine is an amino acid that is one of the key constituents of green tea; it helps transmit nerve impulses in the brain. Vitamin B12 promotes energy production through supporting the body's natural processes of the adrenal glands, red blood cell formation, and many others. Taken from the Piper nigrum fruit, Black Pepper Fruit Extract has been used since antiquity as a form of traditional medicine, and was chosen by the chemists at InfoWars Life to give Brain Force PLUS an extra kick. It has taken over a year to develop and procure the all-new Brain Force PLUS formula, with the InfoWars Crew and the scientists behind InfoWars Life field testing hundreds of different options before choosing the undisputed winning formula that would go on to become Brain Force PLUS. Now is the time to secure your bottle and flip the switch for yourself. Supercharge your state of mind with Brain Force PLUS, and see for yourself why the InfoWars Crew is powered by this key formula."

"That's unbelievable!" intoned Tails. "But have these statements been evaluated by the Food and Drug Administration?" Kramer starting sweating profusely. His knees started shaking and he started to laugh nervously. "Look, Brain Force PLUS is a MUST HAVE product if you don't want to become an unintelligent, efeminine soyboy in today's world!" "But does it _really_ work?" asked Knuckles. Kramer whispered under his breath, "leave it to a bunch of shit-eating Arabs to ask all the negative questions." "Of course it works!" Jerry added. "I use it before every one of my shows!" "Yeah," added George, "it works for me too. Sure I may be short, pudgy, unattractive, and dull, but with Brain Force PLUS I still manage to get with attractive women! Larry David didn't just write that into the show for plot purposes, you know."

"Woah!" said Sonic with his wacky inflection. "That's mondo cool, sign me up dudes!"

Everyone decided to flip the switch with Brain Force PLUS with Sonic, and then they all got dressed for the funeral this afternoon. George gave everybody a 'Make America Great Again' hat to make them look more distinguished and reflect their newfound mental blast-processing.


	5. Chapter 5

"...And then I said to the guy, 'ooga booga go back to Africa,"' Kramer slammed his hands on the counter and let out a bellow of laughter.

Looking unamused, the black street vendor behind the counter replied, "Sir, all I asked is if you wanted a pickle with your hot dog, you didn't have to tell me your story about how you were racist to a cancer patient at the children's hospital."

"Don't worry boy, it's complimentary, I know your people love free handouts. But for your information, I'm no racist, I'm a race realist," retorted Kramer.

"...Right… Look man, do you want a pickle with your dog or not?"

Kramer coughed, "this look like Chicago to you boy? Why don't you add sesame seeds while you're at it!" He looked to the side and gave a quick chuckle with his throat, while the vendor stared at him blankly, "but yes, actually, I would like a pickle, thanks." He paid for the hot dog and carried it all the way to the church where the funeral was being held.

He hadn't taken a single bite; it was almost as if he had forgotten he had even purchased and was carrying the thing, until Jerry looked at him and asked, "You're not bringing that thing in are you?"

Kramer paused and looked at Jerry before plainly asking, "what thing?"

"The hot dog."

"Oh yeah, this thing." Save for some ketchup that smeared on the front of his white button-up shirt, Kramer managed to swallow the hot-dog whole, bun, topping, and all, casually dusting his hands off afterward. Everyone watching had a strong reaction to this sight, George seemed simply impressed, but most of the others were merely disgusted. Sonic trained his eyes on Kramer, staring at him longingly.

The gothic architecture of the church stuck out against the modern styling of the city around it, like a short old man at the bar amongst a sea of college kids, still flirting aggressively with passers-by, making everybody really uncomfortable, but none willing to confront him. Even before entering one could clearly see the interior was abound with wood, some smooth and well lacquered but still more rough and rotting, composing the stairs, the eaves, and the walls and floor of the upper story. The gang took their seats amongst the other mourners and prepared to hear words on behalf of the departed. George nudged Jerry with his elbow and pointed at the sign atop the closed-casket. "Jerry, am I going crazy, or does that sign say 'in memory of Lardon Johnson?'" Jerry focused on the sign to read for himself, and as soon as he did he tried to repress a laugh, muffling it into a sharp nasal snicker, after which he and George burst into fits trying to contain their laughter with as much dignity as possible, but mostly failing. The sign did indeed read 'Lardon,' instead of 'Landon.' George of course informed the whole crew, and none of them could keep from giggling either, not even Mussolini.

They were in fact, still cackling by the time the first of the bereaved got up to speak. "What can you say about Landon? He was Landon!" At this, the gang laughed more audibly, and the woman speaking ran off embarrassed. The next speaker stood up and declared, "Here lies Landon Johnson, the biggest ass who ever lived, what a douche!" The funeral was beginning to feel more and more like a comedy club by the minute, now the entire crowd was giddy from the abundant comedy and slow-roasting of the departed. The next woman who stood up spoke with a stutter, "did he not feel p-a-a-ain when he was h-u-u-u-rt? I mean, I mean, I mean, I mean did he not shit? Did he not dreersh? He was only human, but yes he was chicken and winnegans. Yeet."

A single person amongst the crowd stood up and began slowly clapping. Nobody joined him, and after about ten seconds of awkward, lone clapping, he sat back down. Tails leaned over to Jerry and asked quietly, "Is this a normal funeral? It seems very disrespectful to the dead."

"Don't worry," replied Jerry, "Landon was a nerd-ass bitch, and he's getting the respect he deserved, which is none."

Knuckles replied, "why are we here then? Why were you ever friends with him?"

"Well, we're here for two reasons, first because we were invited and if you start saying no to party invitations people will stop inviting you, and second because of free refreshments." Jerry gestured over to a table full of finger food and drinks, where Kramer was pouring a flask into a punch bowl. "We were friends with Landon because his dad works for Nintendo." Reggie from Nintendo could be seen a few rows in front of them with other people in expensive looking suits. The crowd dispersed from their seats.

"Jerry, Jerry!" Kramer hobbled over to Jerry at the buffet table and uncrumpled a piece of paper. "Jerry, someone handed me this note,"

"A note? What does it say?"

"It says, 'meat me upstairs, M-E-A-T, meat."

"That's a pretty weird sentence, why would the spell-out 'meat' and then repeat it?"

Kramer stared blankly at Jerry for a moment before replying, "No see, I added that part, it just says 'meat me upstairs, I was just pointing out they said 'meat' y'know, like the food."

"Ah yeah that is weird," Jerry played it off cool, but his scrotum shriveled as he suppressed tears, realizing how stupid he was for not realizing Kramer hadn't just read the note verbatim. Thoughts of suicide re-entered his mind. "What do you think it means?"

"Well I was thinking it could be a euphemism or something… are you crying?"

Jerry suppressed a sob and let out a high-pitched, "no." He swallowed heavily. "I think you should go check it out, this party is kind of a bummer, could use any kind of excitement, you know?"

"Yeah, I agree. Who would've thought a funeral could be such a downer?" Kramer made his way to the dilapidated looking staircase. Running his palm up the railing, it was immediately apparent it was the type prone to splinter, so he took care to be extra gentle. This sensation of the wood along with the dull creak of the stairs under his weight and his sudden distance from the clutter of the gathering fostered an atmosphere of contemplation for him, and his mind raced, at first about what awaited him at the top of the staircase but quickly beyond and about the decisions he had made in his life. He became pensive, and determined to better himself at his nearest convenience. He reached the top of the stairs, and there was a shift in the air, ever so slight but impossible to ignore. It was warmer, but there was an odor, where the staircase smelt dead and empty there was clearly a living beast with a beating heart nearby now, not stirring, but waiting patiently. Kramer was in a clearing with benches against the walls to either side of him and a doorway in-front. He stepped forward and casually pushed to door open.


	6. Chapter 6

Kramer fumbled through his pockets.

"Let me help you with that." Sonic dashed behind Kramer, brushing up against his bristly lumbar, gently sliding his gloved right hand into Kramer's ungloved right pocket, and beginning to softly rub the tip of his lumber, already steadily progressing from teak to ash to mesquite.

Kramer's throat rapidly dried, as he yanked from his left pocket his trusty Wonder Bible™ coyly setting it to Book One of Corinthians, Chapter 6, Verses 9 and 10.

"Or do you not know that wrongdoers will not inherit the kingdom of God? Do not be deceived: Neither the sexually immoral, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor men who practice homosexuality, nor thieves, nor the greedy, nor drunkards, nor slanderers, nor swindlers, will inherit the kingdom of God."

With all the authority he could still muster, which was frankly very little, Kramer implored with a stern but quiet tone, "what say you to this?"

Sonic chuckled, pulled one foot from his shoe and placed it sensually over one of Kramer's shoes. "No sweat, we're both wearing socks." Kramer let out a confused sounding fart, prompting Sonic to clarify. "As long as we're wearing socks, we aint naked, and if we aint naked, it aint gay."

"We don't even have to say no homo?"

Sonic grinned and shook his head. "Nope."

Kramer was stunned at the revelation. "Of course," he thought to himself. In a blur, Sonic had undone all of the buttons on Kramer's shirt, and smoothly slid his jacket and shirt off his left arm, exposing his bare and grizzly chest. At the touch of his skin against the dank attic air, Kramer felt an unfamiliar rush of freedom crash down on him like a storm surge ocean wave, as if the pulverizing weight of many guilt-ridden decades over a suppressed homosexuality under the watchful eyes of God could now be casually tossed aside like a pair of dirty, heart-patterned boxers. Kramer imagined himself with the strength of an unburdened Sisyphus and wasted no time stripping off his dirty, heart-patterned boxers, and tossing them aside. The pressure of Sonic's hedgecock from behind felt as though it may lift him off the ground at any moment, as the blue streak buried his nose as deep as he could into the pit of Kramer's arm, soaking up as much of his sweet kavorka scent as possible.

On the ground floor, George had sequestered himself from the rest of the funeral attendees, alone in a room with just himself, the coffin, and a bottle of Jeppson's Malört he wasted no time beginning to guzzle it down. He very shortly, very drunkenly, very curiously stumbled toward Landon's coffin, steadying himself on it and spilling some Malört on it in the process. He gingerly lifted the lid and peered through the opening at the corpse that lay inside. George reacted slowly, but after a few seconds his face contorted and he spoke quietly to himself. "That doesn't look like Landon." He gave a look behind both shoulders to assure himself his uncouth behavior had gone unnoticed, and gently he let the lid back down.

Sonic was riding Kramer like a donkey, with one hand in the air like a rodeo jockey as he was playfully bucked around by the tall stallion. "I feel so adventurous, I can't remember that last time sex was so much fun!" Said Sonic, dismounting like a knight, challenging Kramer to a swordfight. They skillfully traded blows like olympic fencers, both clearly nimble from long histories of practice whipping their dicks around with savant-like precision. When this game had run its course, they exchanged a passionate gaze. The foreplay was over, and it was time for the real fun to start.

The final parts of the funeral service began to commence downstairs. Bored, the gang left and returned to Jerry's place, assuming Kramer and Sonic would catch up with them, indifferent to whether they did or not. A light drizzle had started and dominated the atmosphere outside.

Smothering the blue hedgehog and pinning him to the floor, Kramer had firmly grounded his unlubricated lightning rod into Sonic's nubile mud-pit, and contorted his body to be rigid as a plank of Brazilian Cherry. He then used his arms to push himself into a clockwise motion about the axis of penetration. Spinning like a helicopter blade, once Kramer reached an adequate velocity, he let his centrifugal force carry him. "Heh, look, no arms!" He smiled, holding his arms above his head. Sonic was yodeling in ecstacy. Eventually, his spinning generated enough force to carry the pair off the ground, and they began flying around the room. The concentration of friction caused an electrical disturbance, and lights began to flicker throughout the building.

"Yee haw!" Exclaimed Kramer. Sonic was unable to speak, drooling from the pleasure of being drilled like a deck screw.

The funeral attendees below could hear them extremely clearly, as their erotic moans, and the whipping of Kramer's helicoptering, echoed throughout the chapel, his meat-sabre playing the part of a very different kind of church organ.

Gay sex sure is magical, isn't it?

It is in fact, so magical, that at the point of climax, Sonic blew his load clean through the floorboards like a membrane, very similar to how it is when you beat off under your underwear and shoot through the fabric. Youthful gay hedgecum dripped from the cieling onto the coffin below, mixing with the Malört George had spilled earlier, creating an otherworldly elixir which burned through the coffin and pooled on the cadaver inside. Suddenly, the casket began to emit a visible golden glow, pulsating like the high alchemy animation from Old School Runescape. Spectators who had been filtering into the room looked on worriedly. None moreso than the uncouth sunglasses-indoors-wearing few whom nobody at the funeral recognized. They held their breath, and eventually the glow faded. The room felt marginally but noticeably colder.

"You have no idea how much I needed this." Sonic muttered modestly, trembling under Kramer's sweat drenched mass, his eyes affectionately piercing his being.

"I'm surprised how experienced you are, it was very good for me too. I normally wouldn't do this sort of thing, especially with… your type." Sonic took no offense, thinking Kramer was talking about hedgehogs. He was actually referencing Syrians.

Kramer propped himself up with his arms, and Sonic rolled over under him, wrapping his legs around Kramer's waist and pulling him in for a final kiss.

As the funeral ceremonies came to a close, and the coffin was carried outside and committed to the ground, one of the aforementioned sunglassioed men felt a pang of loathing on his shoulders as he began to feel vibrations from his phone against his anticipatory fingertips. He calmly stepped aside and answered the call.

A low voice greeted him briskly. "Any surprises?"

He tried to swallow the handful of oddities and answered dishonestly. "No sir, the event was completely unspectacular. One less thing to worry about."

"Excellent." The call abruptly ended.


End file.
